


Just a walk in the park

by WhereTheRoadsMeet



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Coffee, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereTheRoadsMeet/pseuds/WhereTheRoadsMeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've watched him jog on Hampstead Heath for days now. One day, he jogs toward you..and your lives change</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a walk in the park

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written one evening for a dear friend. She has very kindly allowed me to share her gift with the world.

You are sitting on the grass on Hampstead Heath. It's only just past 6 in the morning but you love the light at this time of day. You've come to draw...and you've done this every day for a week.

Glancing up, a tall British man is jogging steadily in front of you. You recognise him but play it cool. As he glances up, you nod and smile.He nods back and smiles as he continues his run. The same routine is repeated for the next three days until he one day pauses and jogs toward you.

You greet him and he extends a hand, giving his name. You smile and say that you recognise him (and that you suspect most of the world would).

He asks what you're doing and you (a little shyly) turn the page around. You're pleased with the work, a vividly coloured scene of mermaids and tropical fish.

He nods and praises your work and suggests a coffee, which you accept.

Instead of leading you to a cafe, you instead finding yourself paused at his front door as he keys in the code and holds the door open. Stuttering you say, "Oh...I'm sorry..I thought.."

He replies, asking if it's OK..this is closer (and smiling that winning smile) suggests the coffee is better here. Laughing you enter his home.He leads you to the kitchen. It's modern, well lit and the early London Spring sunshine shines through the high windows and reflects of the white kitchen surfaces.

You cheekily suggest that you can make the coffee while he grabs a shower "After that run"...He laughs and makes a comment about leaving you alone in his kitchen. Nevertheless he gestures you through and heads down the hall.

You contentedly open cupboards looking for cups (surprisingly calm given where you are) and find both a coffee plunger and ground beans in the fridge. You end up with two cups, the plunger, sugar and milk waiting on the bench as you take the chance to glance around, drinking in the selection of magazines and novels on the flat surfaces. The corner of a script is visible under an envelope, but you are too astute to pry.

Not long, and you turn upon hearing a door closing to see him walking down the hall, one towel drying the curls, the other firmly tied at the waist. It's high enough to be discreet, not high enough to be prudish.

"Milk?"

He shakes his head and joins you on the stools at the bench. He asks to see your work and you hesitate, blushing.

Quick to apologise, he draws his hand back, fearful he's crossed a line. You explain that you're critical of your work and he assures you that everyone is, even him. He asks if you could instead show him your favourites, and feeling more in control, you choose a couple of your favourites.

His comments are insightful and complimentary. He clearly regards your work seriously, and is neither harsh nor overly gushing.

Having finished your coffee, you ready yourself to leave before he quickly says "Would you like a tour? I've just had the terrace done upstairs?"

You nod and he turns to lead the way down the hall, you can't help but stare at the towel as it frames his arse and hangs low on his hips.

  
Having shown you the guest bedroom and downstairs bathroom, he leads the way up the stairs, leaving the doors closed and instead opening french doors leading to a garden terrace.

It's beautiful, calming and subtle. Clearly designed to be low maintenance and yet there are sprinkles of colour peeking out between leaves and masses of pots. However, his skin prickles to goosebumps in the chill morning air and you suggest you head back inside.

Back down the hall he slows at a door...clearly hesitating and in two minds about continuing the tour. Finally nodding decisively, he tips the handle down and pushes the door open as you stand by his side.

"And this, obviously, is my room. I don't get as much time here as I'd like..but it's mine."

You look around. It's surprisingly neutral. Part of you had expected dark timber and bookcases, but instead its all blonde wood and high quality white linens. The room is naturally lit by full length windows, drenching the room in light. Yesterdays clothes lay discarded on the floor and he snorts, grabbing them and throwing them on a chair in the corner.

"Sorry...time poor"

You laugh lightly, trapped in the door, "It's fine...it really is."

"Come in, you've made coffee...you're clearly at home in my personal space."

You take a hesitant step forward and stutter to a stop again...He turns back toward you, giving you an appraising look. Very appraising indeed. You blush..in fact..you're starting to think it would save time if you stayed red.

Walking back toward you he lays the gentle back of his hand first on your forehead and then your cheek, he whispers low, "You ok?"

"MmmHmm." The room is not stuffy, and yet you're struggling to breathe normally.

He looks down at you, towering above you but not crowding, "What do you have planned for the day?"

"Nothing" you manage.

"I just need to make a call...will you wait?"

"MmHmm."

He steps to his clothes to retrieve his phone, leaving the room, but not far enough so you can't hear. The call is brief and he's explaining that he won't be in today. Hold his calls and issuing instructions of several people that need to be rescheduled.

He returns to the room....to you...and pushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, smoothing a thumb over your cheek and leaving his hand there.

"I don't want you to think this is sudden..although it seems that way. I've been watching you all week. I've been trying to talk myself out of bringing you home." His other hand comes up to rest at your hip. It's gentle but firm. you can feel the fabric of your shirt moving against your skin as he rubs small circles with his fingers.

 

"Come to bed with me." He whispers in your ear. "Even if it's just to hold you for a while. I want to feel how we fit together...I need to. It's driving me mad."

You boldly whisper back, "And If I want more than holding?"

"Then we'll fit together that way too."

 

**Epilogue**

You wake well after dark, You feel boneless and yet achey, as if you've been for a long run and then lay in the sun for hours. It takes a moment for you to remember where you are, and what has happened in the past hours. You stare at the ceiling getting your bearings, grounding yourself feeling the sheets under your hands.

You turn to your side, planning to quietly watch the man beside you sleep. Planning to memorise every hair and freckle on his face in case this doesn't last. In case, this wasn't what you think it could be.

Instead, you see iridescent, chameleon eyes looking back at you. Dark feathery lashes swing down and then back up. There's no guile in the gaze, no doubt, just a steady, slightly serious constancy. He smiles, lazy and genuine.

"Hi...." you say, aiming for casual.

"Hi..." he replies with the characteristic rumble that's broken hearts around the world.

"What are you thinking?" You ask.

"That I've finally found you."


End file.
